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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878564">Comedic Exaggerations and Unfortunate Realities</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/2ndtolastrow/pseuds/2ndtolastrow'>2ndtolastrow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>in control’verse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, jon is a titan in this verse because i say so :), jon kent-centric, no thank you ao3, small children who are also deadly people, they keep trying to feed me game of thrones tags</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:15:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878564</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/2ndtolastrow/pseuds/2ndtolastrow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian crashes one of Jon's field trips. Their conversation turns to the time-travelling Tim Drake and his prophecies of Jon's future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Samuel Kent &amp; Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>in control’verse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952833</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Comedic Exaggerations and Unfortunate Realities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>and we get some Good Jon Content to round out this trilogy--though this is my final piece. thanks for coming on this ride, y'all.<br/>EDIT: 12/9/20, cleaned up spacing</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Wow,” Jon declares, folding his arms behind his head and putting his biggest smile on, “I sure do hope no one decides to kidnap me right now.”</p><p>Georgia gives him a Look. It says, “This is why Mrs. Robles keeps trying to send you to the guidance counselor.” A moment later, Damian drops down from on top of the building they’re walking by, landing in a way that Jon is pretty sure is soundless—or nearly, anyway—to a human.</p><p>“Hi, Damian,” she says.</p><p>“Bakshi,” he replies, nodding at her in the way that totally means he thinks she’s cool. There’s an extra head-dip and everything! He looks at Jon coolly. “You’re falling behind.”</p><p>Which is when Jon realizes the rest of the class has kept walking without them for around fifteen seconds and starts doing reasonable-human-speed jogging to catch up, Georgia also hurrying and Damian keeping pace.</p><p>“Who’s chaperoning this again?” Georgia asks suspiciously as they reach the back of the pack again.</p><p>Jon shrugs, eyeing the cobblestones and wondering if he should fake-trip. “Dunno.”</p><p>Alex glances back. “Oh hey, Damian. It’s Drew’s parents, and I <em> think </em> one of David’s dads.”</p><p>“Thanks!” Jon says brightly, as Damian mutters another greeting.</p><p>“That man is a wanted criminal,” he continues, so quietly even Jon can barely hear, nodding to probably-not-Drew’s-dad. “He’s been threatening the Freemans for the sake of them providing a safe haven, but was unable to resist getting access to the museum. He plans to create a hostage situation so he’ll be able to rob it.”</p><p>“So your dad didn’t just give you a bus pass then?” Jon jokes at normal-human-volume, grinning.</p><p>Damian smirks. “I took my bike.”</p><p>(This will fuel the rest of the classrooms’ theory that Damian is a Metropolis resident, not realizing he means a motorcycle. It’s one of the few agreed-upon points. Jon is the only one not technically in on the theories about Damian, because of how central he is and how much fun it would take out to just know, but he’s also the only one with super-hearing, so take that.)</p><p>They turn one last corner, and both the museum and the park opposite it come into view. Their line straggles into the park with one last headcount (that Damian casually avoids by looping around behind a tree) and settles in for lunch before heading into the museum itself.</p><p>Jon tunes out the conversation about the monuments they’d visited in the morning, then the one about starting up a game of hangman, then the casual chat between Mrs. Robles and Mr. David’s Dad.</p><p>Damian has quietly snuck up on Not-Mr. Drew’s Dad. “Do you know Batman? You’re from Gotham, aren’t you, Matthews?”</p><p>Mr. Creepy Dude grunts in agreement.</p><p>“I don’t think anyone in Gotham doesn’t know Batman.” Damian hums. “I’m one of his kids.”</p><p>Mr. Creepy Dude whimpers.</p><p>“I think you understand why you will behave yourself appropriately for the remainder of this trip, and then turn yourself in, don’t you?” </p><p>One agreement later, Damian is strolling over as though nothing had happened. Jon gives him half of his sandwich.</p><p>“You’re doing good,” he says, nodding towards Mr. Creepy Dude. The sinking feeling starts in his stomach again.</p><p>“Well,” Damian corrects. Then his eyebrows crumple. “Or did you <em>mean</em> good?”</p><p>“Kinda both?” Jon admits, because they’d had this back-and-forth a few times, and he might refuse to change but he’ll admit that the laws of grammar exist. </p><p>He digs the toe of his shoe into the dirt. “I’m… I’m thinkin’ about that more now, since…”</p><p>“My most recent argument that those who cannot master their native tongue don’t <em>deserve</em> tongues got through to you?” Damian’s voice is cutting, though not at Jon. As always, he takes a moment to reassure, however bluntly and with however many rough edges. “Your future is your own.”</p><p>“Except I <em>did</em> solar flare like future-Robin said.” Jon feels the heat in his memory, tearing him apart from the inside out, instead of starting in his skin and hair and working down to settle, boiling in his bones and <em>pushing</em> him apart so he thought he’d explode.</p><p>“And I killed like my grandfather said.” Damian is scowling when Jon looks up, arms crossed as he sits, strangely dignified for someone sitting criss cross-applesauce on the grass with a bunch of elementary schoolers and half a sandwich still in his hand.</p><p>Jon forces himself to eat some of his half, trying to organize his thoughts so he can actually say something this time, pulling his knees underneath him to sit on them.</p><p>Damian beats him to the punch. “Drake wanted to change time, correct?”</p><p>“Well, yeah,” Jon says. “By murdering me. And then the Titans were like, uh, he’s one of us, <em>no</em>.”</p><p>“But the Jonathan of his timeline never knew about solar flaring,” Damian says. “Perhaps that is change enough.”</p><p>“But what if it isn’t!” Jon realizes he practically shouted it only after he gets a few looks, and then realizes he’s risen to half-kneeling and drops back down. “I just—I know I won’t know until I get there, and I know everyone says that this isn’t that. But it’s <em> possible</em>.”</p><p>“Oh,” Damian says. Then he uncrosses his arms, perches his half of the sandwich on his knee, and picks up a leaf. “I could kill you with this.”</p><p>Jon snorts, because he’s pretty sure that’s not a leaf made of Kryptonite.</p><p>“Well, not you. Someone. Even without it.” He drops the leaf, letting it float away and leave behind his open hand, all scars and calluses. “You get used to the possibility, Jonathan. It just takes some time.”</p><p>Jon looks down at his own hands as Damian picks the sandwich back up. He can hear people chewing, laughing, talking, identify nearly all of them. His hands just look like hands.</p><p>There aren’t any scars, not even any <em>freckles</em>, and they didn’t blister and callus on the monkey bars like everyone else. They could crush Damian’s skull.</p><p>It’s not comforting, because he can control that, he can’t control his solar flare.</p><p>He picks at the grass, taking the time to feel each blade.</p><p>Okay, it’s kinda comforting.</p><p>He picks up what’s left of his sandwich, which he could crush until there wasn’t even enough of it left to be visible, and he doesn’t even leave a dent until he takes a bite.</p><p>Damian’s definitely doing good.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading! feel free to leave kudos/comments/etc or come yell at me on tumblr (@secondtolastrow). I would, however, appreciate it if no one asked for any sequels/continuation--if you'd like me to explore something in this au, we can do that in the comments, but i'm pretty done with writing for it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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